


almost heaven

by BlackcatNamedlucky, gender_is_fake_and_im_tired, JohnFransisco, pweasenosubtweet, themoonandtheiris



Category: The Epic of Gilgamesh
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Body Horror, Crack Treated Seriously, Dark Crack, Emetophobia, Explicit Sexual Content, Gore, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Rough Sex, School Shootings, all chapters will have adequate content warnings in the beginning notes, ggcu, if you find that they do not please reach out and tell us, six separate authors worked on this so some things might slip through the cracks, these tags do not apply to every chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29414979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackcatNamedlucky/pseuds/BlackcatNamedlucky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gender_is_fake_and_im_tired/pseuds/gender_is_fake_and_im_tired, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnFransisco/pseuds/JohnFransisco, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pweasenosubtweet/pseuds/pweasenosubtweet, https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoonandtheiris/pseuds/themoonandtheiris
Summary: When Enkidu falls into the half-frozen Lake Michigan during their honeymoon, Gilgamesh reminisces on all the things that made their love story beautiful while he waits by Enkidu’s hospital bed for him to wake.
Relationships: Enkidu/Gilgamesh (Mesopotamian Mythology)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 9





	1. stranger to blue water

The lake is beautiful this time of year. As they drive along the road on the way to the trail, Gilgamesh can see the water effusing deep blues and greens into the underside of the sheet of ice that sits atop it. It’s gorgeous, he thinks, although not as gorgeous as the man sitting in the driver’s seat. His husband. His _husband_. He’d never thought he could have this, and yet here he is. He takes Enkidu’s hand over the console and raises it to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to his knuckles. Enkidu laughs at that, a musical thing, and gives Gilgamesh a quick side-long glance before looking back at the road.

“What was that for?” he asks, mirth pooling in his tone.

“Just thinking about how much I love you,” Gilgamesh says, and watches Enkidu’s face soften.

“Love you too,” he says, voice warm, and brings Gilgamesh’s hand to his own lips, pressing his own quick kiss there.

Gilgamesh rides this high for the rest of the drive.

###

The cold December air nips at Enkidu’s nose and ear-tips when he gets out of the car, pinkening them, and Gilgamesh knows he looks much the same. It’s not necessarily an unpleasant cold, although it offers little comfort. Rather, it feels more anticipatory. Something waits in the air, the lack of wind seeming as though it is caused by the world holding its breath.

Gilgamesh will later wish that he’d noticed this.

Now, though, he just laughs at the way Enkidu scrunches his face under the scarf and hat that Gilgamesh’s mother had knitted for him, and kisses the pink tip of his nose. He locks the car, then grabs Enkidu’s hand in his own and leads the two of them towards the building at the trailhead to get a map. They’re greeted by a lanky man with a weaselly grin. His name tag reads Ea-nasir, so Gilgamesh greets him accordingly and smiles, asking for a map of the trails.

He hands it over with that same grin, dripping with all the charm of a used car salesman, and keeps it tight in his grip when Gilgamesh goes to grab it. “We have some fantastic and fantastically rare gemstones found on the lakeshore here,” he says, gesturing to the rack of quartz and amethyst that sits on the counter next to him. “If you find yourself at all interested in high quality gifts for such a low price.”

Gilgamesh furrows his brow and wrenches the map out of the man’s grip. “No, thank you. We’re okay,” he says, and tries to lead Enkidu away.

“Are you sure?” Ea-nasir calls after them, “I really think you’ll find they’d be highly appreciated!”

Enkidu snorts and lets go of Gilgamesh’s hand to flip him off. “We’re not interested!” he shouts, tangling his fingers with Gilgamesh’s again and tugging him towards the trail.

When they’re sufficiently out of sight of the kiosk, and thus of any other people, Gilgamesh pulls Enkidu in and kisses him soundly.

“I love when you get all snarky like that,” he says, kissing the other man’s nose again and relishing in the blush it elicits.

“Love when you get all affectionate like this,” Enkidu responds, brushing his free hand over Gilgamesh’s cheek. The wool of his glove (it, too, knitted by Gilgamesh’s mother) is ever so slightly bristly against his chilled skin, and it’s a gentle reminder that there is more to the world than Enkidu’s heartbeat keeping time with his.

Gilgamesh, unwilling to break the tenderness of the moment but wanting to get along with their day, raises a hand to encircle Enkidu’s and turns his head, pressing a kiss to the inside of Enkidu’s wrist, right where his jacket has pulled away from his glove to expose bare skin.

Enkidu shivers, not from the cold, and ducks his head with a small smile. They stand in silence for another moment, framed by the pine trees and the trailhead, until Gilgamesh lets his hand fall and takes the first few heavy steps into the hike.

###

Eventually, they make their way through the forest trails and out onto Lake Michigan’s frozen shore. In the time it’s taken, soft, fluffy snowflakes have started to fall, landing in the ends of Gilgamesh’s long hair and getting stuck in Enkidu’s eyelashes.

They stand at the end of the trail for a moment, taking in the miles of snow and ice that stretch out before them, the horizon a blurred line of grey. Gilgamesh takes Enkidu’s hand in his own again, suddenly overwhelmed by the magnitude of the world, and the insignificance of his own life in comparison. Enkidu seems to know exactly what he’s thinking, squeezing his hand and giving him a smile.

“Come on,” he says. “We’ll face it together.”

They walk, then, out over the beach, hardly able to tell where the shore ends and the lake begins until—

Gilgamesh hears the bone-chilling sound of ice cracking as Enkidu takes another step and immediately his heart plummets and his stomach rises to his throat. “Enkidu!” he screams, lunging forward in a desperate attempt to grab his husband.

He fails.

Enkidu falls in, and all of Gilgamesh’s fight floods out of him and into his screams.


	2. all my memories

The heart monitor’s incessant beeping was an unsettling beat to the requiem of what Gilgamesh feared could be the inevitable. The nurse sat nervously beside the comatose Enkidu, her breasts bouncing with a velocity unusual for how still she was sitting as she nervously tore at her nails.

Gilgamesh couldn’t believe that it had ended up like this. It was supposed to be a perfect, beautiful honeymoon. By the dying god, why hadn’t it been that perfect day? The day where the only trouble would be Gilgamesh’s toes going numb from the cold chill of the biting snow, freezing everything it blanketed. Instead Enkidu had been stabbed by the icy cold of Lake Michigan, falling to its deathly embrace. The nurse finished writing something on her clipboard, her legs crossing and uncrossing. Gilgamesh was tired.

The doctor entered the room, her face twisted by a swirling storm of concern and pity. Gilgamesh hated pity. He only needed the news, and the time to process what that news could possibly be. Gilgamesh did not pray, as he feared that Enkidu was beyond salvation. He would only live of his own will.

“He has exactly 17 days, two hours, thirteen minutes, and 2 seconds to live,” she said.

“How did you get such an exact timeframe for how much time he has left?” Gilgamesh asked.

“Medicine has become increasingly reliant on accuracy and finding cures, rather than the needs of the patients. Fuck you. I’m a girl boss,” the doctor said. Gilgamesh nodded in understanding.

“You never learned about medical humanities. Enkidu was a professor of that subject… no, I suppose he still is, for these next seventeen days-”

“Two hours-”

“Yes, I understand. May I have time alone with him?” Gilgamesh asked. She nodded sharply, and the nurse also stood up and left, her heels clicking on the floor as she closed the door behind herself. Gilgamesh rested his head in his hands.

“Oh Enkidu, if only we didn’t have exactly seventeen days, 2 hours, 11 minutes, and forty nine seconds left together. What I would give for this not to be the end. There’s so many memories I would have made for you, if only we didn’t have to grade so many goddamn essays. Oh how I hate our students. I know you did too…” Gilgamesh trailed off, wondering if he was a horrible person. Was it right of him to hate a group of people just barely above the legal age of adulthood?

He remembered Enkidu’s first lecture. He had asked Gilgamesh to sit in the back of the class while he gave it to calm his nerves. The lecture had largely been an introductory one, so there was about thirty minutes of the students stating their names, grade, and major with militaristic rhythm. It quickly became apparent that the class was filled with centrists, for reasons indiscernible to Gilgamesh. The students constantly talked of the far left, saying that the supposedly well defined group was just as bad as the dearly behated far right, despite the fact that they could not name any acts that the far left had committed that were nearly as egregious as the far right’s.

Enkidu had realized that all of his students had only taken his class for woke points. To say that they had taken it rather than apply the complex theory that he had put together, with precisely chosen works for the syllabus. They didn’t care, and that night he had sobbed. Gilgamesh had tried his best to comfort him. Bernie had won after all, they just happened to teach in a strangely centrist area.

Thankfully, as Enkidu taught more classes, he had to deal with a less concentrated number of centrists.  
Gilgamesh remembered the time that he had all of his students fight in cage battles for extra credit. In truth, he had simply wanted to grade less essays, and he figured that if some of his students died, there would be less essays to grade. His students had complained so much about how slow he was at grading, it was no secret that he took forever to grade things, but he had a life goddammit!

It had ended when fucking Trina complained that her best friend had gotten stabbed through the chest with a spear. It happens to everyone, _come on._ His pay had been docked, and the students had the nerve to complain that he’d merely been slapped on the wrist. And if he was being honest, he had wanted to see which of his scrawny nerd students was the most powerful.

Enkidu had explained to him that death is a horrible thing, and Gilgamesh realized that he hadn’t truly realized the pain of death until now. It had always been nothing to him, as bloodshed had dulled his ability to grieve. Life had meant nothing to him until it was the life of someone he cared about. Damn. This shit sucks uwu.

“Enkidu… good god, my dear Enkidu… I’m sorry. If only I had been able to save you from stepping onto that skinny ice. If only it had been more dummy thick, just like you. I’m so distraught, you will succumb to the one thing I can’t defeat,” Gilgamesh said.

“Bingus… Scringus…” Enkidu murmured. Hearing his voice was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Gilgamesh burst into tears, the water flowing from his eyes like someone took a wrecking ball to the Hoover Dam. It was horrible and it was beautiful. There is a time where everyone can no longer hold in the pain that they have desperately tried to ignore, for some it happens sooner than later. This world is cold and cruel, and it breaks everyone, and then, it had broken Gilgamesh.

Humans are simply pathetic little blips in the face of the vicious endlessness of mother nature, the heart of the earth only beating for itself. Even when her children are dying, choking on the odors of industrialization, the stubborn rock will live on until the sun expands and devours its ungrateful children.  
Anyway, Gilgamesh lowered his head, exhaustion pulling him down harder than the gravity he fought against every day. It was all a fight for him, everything, all the time. A fight against the world, a fight against himself, a fight against god. And he no longer had the energy to fight against the chaos of everything, for he knew he could not fight against death, as it takes and it takes and it takes.

His mind was a haze that he was no longer able to see an exit to. The key was in his hand. But he’d rather eat it than fit it into the lock it belonged to.


	3. the morning hour

Gilgamesh propped open the glass door to the Lake Michigan University coffee shop, chivalrously ushering his husband inside. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans, flavored syrups, and steamed milk lingered in the air. If it weren’t such an unusually pleasant smell it would be almost overwhelming. The coffee at the campus cafe wasn’t particularly good, but it was convenient, and the taste of “just okay” chai lattes had become comforting. It’s strange how you start to see the charm in simple things when you have to make do. 

The men approached the counter and examined the makeshift chalkboard menu, even though they already knew what they wanted. The barista seemed busy, he was leaning over the counter at the other end of the bar, chatting with another student, propping up his head with hand. Or… were they dating? It was hard to tell. 

Enkidu cleared his throat, loud enough to get the slacker’s attention. The college kid didn’t seem to hear him. The annoyed patron rolled his eyes and was about to try again, louder this time, but before he could, a mysterious figure materialized in the doorway to the office in the back of the shop. Literally, materialized. A swarm of atoms compressed into one being, a middle aged gentleman with black thick-framed glasses and graying hair. He wore a black turtleneck and a tan corduroy blazer. He appeared with his hands raised flamboyantly above his head, as if he struck a pose to complete a dance number, and also as if no one was watching. Maybe he should have materialized a few feet to the left. 

He plucked an apron off the wall and placed it around his neck and pinned his nametag to it. The tag was a laminated piece of paper that said “Jeff” on it in pink sharpie and had glittery stickers placed in it haphazardly. He dusted off his work apron, although there was no dust or flour there in the first place, and went to greet the customers. 

“Oh, hello! How are you two doing on this lovely morning?” he said far too enthusiastically for any employee working a minimum wage job at 8 am. The husbands paused, mouths agape. 

“Uh, yeah, good? Uhm,” Gilgamesh murmured, trying to grasp what had just unfolded. “We’ll get a large chai latte, a macchiato, and a croissant, please, uh… Jeff?” Gilgamesh rubbed his eyes, it couldn’t be… could it? “Jeff Goldblum?!” Jeff winked.

“And one blueberry-” Enkidu started to chime in. “JEFF GOLDBLUM?!” Every patron in the cafe turned to face the “employee” and gasped in disbelief. 

“Yes, that’s me. Charmed I’m sure.” he hummed gleefully. “What was that about a blueberry scone?” Enkidu’s eyes widened, it was like Jeff could read his mind. 

“Yes, right, I’ll take one of those.” he said on autopilot, the gears in his mind were still turning. Jeff Goldblum reached under the counter and instantly produced the couple’s food and drinks. Gilgamesh reached for his wallet, eyes glued to the steam rising from the cheap paper cups. He pulled a wad of bills from the pouch and tossed it onto the table, snatching up his order and escaping to a table. 

Jeffrey Bingus Wysteria Goldblum gingerly picked up the seventy four and a half dollars and placed the bills in the folds of his turtleneck. 

“Come again!” he said, like a songbird or a disney princess. Once they looked away, he promptly raised his arms, smiling fashionably, and dematerialized. 

“Weird to see him here, don’t you think?” Enkidu observed. Gilgamesh looked around the cafe, trying to spot the subject of his husband’s statement. 

“Who are you talking about?” He asked, head tilted in genuine confusion. 

“The cashier, they… uh…” Enkidu suddenly lost his train of thought. Who served them their drinks? Who was that handsome bastard…? “You know, I don’t remember.” He shrugged. 

“Oh well, it’s no big deal.” he bit into his croissant. “If it was important, I’m sure you’d remember.” 

“That reminds me, Gilgamesh,” He said, leaning closer, like he was about to relay top secret information. “Did you ever hear the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?” 

“No.” Gil replied, confused, yet intrigued.

“I thought not. It’s not a story the Jedi would tell you. It’s a Sith legend. Darth Plagueis was a Dark Lord of the Sith, so powerful and so wise he could use the Force to influence the midichlorians to create life… He had such a knowledge of the dark side that he could even keep the ones he cared about from dying.”

“He could actually save people from death?”

“The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some to consider to be unnatural.”

“What happened to him?” Gil stuffed the rest of the pastry into his mouth.

“He became so powerful…” Enkidu leaned in even closer, “the only thing he was afraid of was losing his power, which eventually, of course, he did. Unfortunately, he taught his apprentice everything he knew, then his apprentice killed him in his sleep. It’s ironic he could save others from death, but not himself.”

“Cool.” Gilgamesh gargled through a mouthful of chai. “I mean, yeah, uh. Ironic. I agree. I was listening.” 

“I… believe you.” Enkidu said, with a hint of suspicion. “Are you ready to head out?” 

“Yeah. We have that rave later, I can’t wait to get into the K Hole.”

“Is that the name of the club or are you talking about ketamine?”

“Yes.”


	4. misty taste of moonshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: implied drug use & drug-induced hallucinations

You are in a club with a beautiful boy. Or something like that, you aren’t quite sure beyond the haze of delirium and loud, thrumming music that snakes its way under your skin and through your veins. _You_ think he’s beautiful, at least, although you’re both well past boyhood.

You wouldn’t know it from his face, tonight. He glows, almost as if he is the moon, and you are illuminated by its shine.

He is young again, and so are you, and you are unblemished for his presence. The both of you, free and young and _here_. Released from the chains of mortality. Your pain, cut away like a tumor that had been choking out your heart. He is here. 

He is alive again.

You wonder if this is what you want. What have you ever wanted? You think you knew, once.

You think you must know now. Is it not obvious what you want?

Him, only him, you have only ever wanted to taste his skin, to swallow his ecstasy, to carve a home for yourself in his chest. His fire to run through your veins, your reason to wilt away when his lips chase yours.

You killed him for it.

You kiss him and taste lakewater and the blood dripping from his nose. _Like copper_

Your head is pounding, but it could be the bass, and your vision pulses.

No, not really here, no, you couldn’t be. This is not your time, not your home. How did you get here? Where are you? You have to ask,

you,

_Son of the wild cow_

You are not meant for this place, its neon lights and electronic heartbeat. You are wild.

No. 

No _he_ is wild, and you had him tamed. Tamed to be by your side until the end, until he wasn’t.

But he is by your side, he is pressed against you until you can hardly tell where you end and he begins. He is here with you, again, for one night. One night, in a world that is not your own, and you think that the gods must be laughing at the pain stabbing through your heart every time you feel his breath on your neck, every time his fingers skate across your skin.

_Old man grown young_

You look at the beautiful boy again and his cheeks are sunken. Sweat drips from his brow into his bloodshot eyes and he is grinning, wildly, each tooth sharp and glittering. You do not know his name.

You think you must know his name.

You love him.

You blink. Shake your head.

He is glowing again, and it is almost too bright to look at. Your eyes burn with saltwater. Tears, sweat, the swelling ocean tide.

You miss him, but he is here with you. You are not really here. He is not really alive. He asks you to buy him a drink, in a language that has not been spoken for millennia. You understand it, the way you understand that he is dead, and so are you, and this is not your home. You are broken and disjointed, you are unclear, you are wild.

You are a god, and a man, and a beast. He is your cornerstone, and your weapon. He is the son of clay and the sun and his skin burns. He cries your name.

No, he _curses_ your name. You think you deserve it.

You buy him the drink. You blink, and it is gone.

You blink and you are dancing, his chest pressed to yours, his hands roaming your bare torso, teasing their way around your waistband. Your skin is warm, his is ice-cold, and then it is not. You feel his pulse in your ribs. His hands thaw locked around your hips.

You kiss him again, open-mouthed and searing, and let the frantic music act as your heartbeat, just for one night.


	5. teardrop in my eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: school shooting, minor character death

From the other side of the lawn, the loudspeaker crackled to life. 

“Good morning, students. Today is March 16, 2063. In lieu of the typical morning announcements, we are pleased to bring you a special memorandum from our illustrious Principal Hrothgarson.”

There was a pause, and a new voice took over the broadcast. Deep and orotund, the frailty of old age had not yet seeped into that voice. Indeed, if one had never seen the Principal face-to-face, it would not be unreasonable to conclude the voice belonged to a man half his age. What years of knowledge and experience that voice belied! It was almost too difficult to accept that only four years prior, the Principal had been eating cat food out of a dumpster in Neo Tokyo, all but totally illiterate.

“Dear students, I am here today to remind you that student transportation devices are not to be kept in the school parking lot, as it is reserved solely and exclusively for faculty, visitors, and the mentally ill, as is laid out in section 3, subsection 5, paragraph 1 of your student conduct guide. In accordance with Appendix C of the guide, all vehicles and their owners found to be in breach of this regulation will be immolated. Thank you, and please have a pleasant day.”

Gilgamesh rolled his eyes at the platitudes. “Have a pleasant day”, he sniveled to himself, mocking the venerable Hrothgarson.

“Hey, wait up!”

From a few feet behind him, a familiar voice sounded, this one bright and cheerful, replete with the bountiful energy of youth.

“Enkidu! You’re finally back!”

It had been quite a while since Gilgamesh had seen his boyfriend in the flesh, as he had been busy recovering from quite a serious case of death, a disease so contagious, it requires absolute isolation during convalescence. Still, if he was back at school, it must mean he had made an excellent recovery. Most people who suffer death never recover, and it was a testament to Enkidu’s strong constitution that he was here. Well, that, or his absolute dumptruck ass, which rivalled Gilgamesh’s magnificent buttocks in size and shapeliness. 

Many doctors, without doubt experts in their fields, advise having the wagon as a prophylactic measure, and recent research published in the _Journal of Ass Research (JAR)_ has suggested that it may serve a disease-fighting function as well. While pee might be stored in the balls, it appears that immune system is stored in the ass.

“Yeah, I was finally cleared by my doctor to return yesterday. Let me tell you, you don’t want to catch death, it’s not fun.”

“Your doctor is a jackalope, right? It really has been a bumper year for the integration of animals into society.”

“Yeah, but I just wish he would stop trying to eat my ass under the presence of a housecall.”

**——————**

Since the pair had begun dating, they had made every effort to align their schedules with one another, under the pretense of being able to spend more time together. While this was true to an extent, the underlying reason for this particular arrangement was instead a sort of grotesque mockery of a competition to see who could get the most teachers to [REMOVED TO CONFORM TO INTERNATIONAL AND LOCAL CENSORSHIP LAWS].

**Author’s Note: Their first class is unimportant to this chapter, so instead we’re going to jump to history, a subject I wish I had majored in in college, instead of animal husbandry like my parents forced me to do. Hope you enojy it!**

The first notable thing about Room N14 was the overpowering stench of beans that hung in the air, perfuming the area with a noisome miasma rivalled nowhere else in the known universe, not even by the trenches of the Ardennes.

Second was the graffiti scribbled on the board. Most of it was written in runes, but here and there could be seen such nonsense as “Meat Rulez”, “| || ”, and “Wallus Forever”.  
|| |_

Third, and this was the most pressing to the students enrolled in the class, was that their venerable teacher had been replaced by… Dick Cheney, famed 46th Vice President of the United States, now a sprightly 122 years old. Gilgamesh, upon taking his seat, immediately raised his hand to ask a question. Cheney, who was occupied trying to edit Wikipedia to remove the bit about him being one of the most unpopular politicians in the history of the U.S. (an approval rating of 13%! Can you believe this shit?), took slightly longer than Gilgamesh wanted to notice, and so he calmly removed the pistol he always kept in his backpack, and, giving no warning to the other students seated around him, firing three shots directly into the ceiling.

“Hope you can pay for that.” Cheney, apparently unperturbed, continued tapping away at his laptop, before angrily slamming it shut and chucking it out the nearby open window.

“Confound it all! All they talk about is Jeb, Jeb, Jeb! Well, I can use a blender just as well, so I’ll show them! Ha! Aha! Ahahahahahahah! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Soon they will have no choice but to cower in awe at me, Dickless Cheney! The ruler of the free world! Fuck you, Hildegard!”

Enkidu was leaning back in his chair, smoking a small ferret. “That’s all well and good, but if you want our school to keep being funded, you’d better hurry up and teach us something. Class is over in ten minutes.”

“Huh? Oh, right, this is a school. What class is this?”

_“History,” the Greek chorus responded._

“Right, have you guys covered the First Iraq War? I bet I’ve got some info you don’t have in those dinky lil’ textbooks.”

_“No knucklebones; figs, please Daddy.”_

“Well, it all started when my good friend Tad and I- that’s what I call George W. Bush, dontcha know…”

_No figs; be hanged, say I.  
From my paltry pay I have to try  
Flour, wood, and groceries to buy.  
Figs indeed—up in the sky!_

“And I made out like a fuckin’ bandit! Ain’t politics fun, kids? But that’s enough about Aristophanes.”

And with that, the bell rang signaling the beginning of lunch. For some reason, the bell sounded a bit like a small child being fed through a wood-chipper. But with less blood, it wasn’t a wet sound or anything. A skeleton?

“Well, I guess that’s it for me. You kids go on and enjoy your lunch, and always remember: you’re lunch!”

Dick Cheney smiled, baring his toothless gums.

**——————**

The lunchroom. A place where dreams are made and dashed, where food is served, and all the popular boys get under-the-table handjobs from Suzie.

GIlgamesh and Enkidu stood together in line, embracing furiously. Everyone ignored them. Today, soup was being served. It was bean soup, topped with a delicious crouton made from drywall, lentils, and what appeared to be a large quantity of pubic hair. The lovers continued their sloppy kiss, tongues battling for dominance.

From behind the counter, a raspy voice rang out. It was the lunch lady, Ea-Nasir, known to all as a real bitch. he threw a knife at Gilgamesh’s head. It missed. He didn’t notice, fingers entangled deeply in Enkidu’s hair. Entangled so deeply, in fact, that he threatened to yank the wig right off his bald pate!

“Hey, younguns’! Git yur tongues outta each other’s mouth and come take yur soup o’ questionable age n’ origin!” His scratchy, anime-like voice reverberated across the marble walls of the luncheon hall, much like the mellifluous tones of that ever-popular boy band, BTS. K-pop died, luckily, but the love for it didn’t. Fuck, I hate it here.

Gilgamesh and Enkidu separated, a thin string of saliva still tenuously connecting them to each other, and took their state-mandated bowl of soup. They sat at a nearby table, and ate in relative quiet.

The doors to the lunchroom flew open with a clash. Dick Cheney stepped through, covered in dust.

“Watch this,” Gilgamesh said in a low voice. “I’m gonna do something legendary.”

Slowly, and with an angelic smile on his mountainous face, he walked up to Dick Cheney, and struck up a friendly, casual conversation. What happened next, no one can quite recall, but Gilgamesh casually set down his backpack, removed the handgun, and, maintaining his conversation with the esteemed Mr. Cheney, put it to the old man’s head and pulled the trigger.

The bright sun of late afternoon streamed through the high windows and into that immaculate, pure-white cafeteria.


	6. the place where I belong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: blood, implied gore, mentioned homophobia from dean winchester

Gilgamesh stared out at the hordes of bears prowling outside. He didn’t know that there were even this many bears in Michigan. What the fuck. He pulled out his perfectly functioning iPhone 4 and sent a textual message to Enkidu. The message appeared as green because Enkidu used an Android.

G: Do you think you can make it to my office amidst all the bears

E: Don’t you have office hours?

G: I don’t fucking care

E: Okay. I have my sword with me so don’t worry I can fight off all the bears <3

Unfortunately, it did matter a little, as there was a ten year old in his office. He had no idea why this angry little boy was here, but apparently he had somehow gotten in through the praise of the long dead Egyptian king, Akhetaton. Apparently someone had stolen his identity as a joke and recommended this small child that was practically frothing at the mouth in unbridled rage, and the Dean of Lake Michigan University, Dean Winchester, had for some reason actually thought that it was the real Akhetaton.

Thankfully the child was very weak, and could barely turn over a chair despite their unfathomable rage. Gilgamesh saw no potential in their fighting spirit, or in anything in general, other than their ability to scream.

There was a knock on the door. Gilgamesh answered it, visibly deflating when he saw that it was a student rather than Enkidu.

“Professor Smith-”

“Come another time, can’t you see I’m babysitting!” Gilgamesh snapped, slamming the door.

“But you said you’d talk about strategies for the next exam since I bombed the last one-”

“Fuck off, get ready for the cage fight or something. You’ll have a better chance at that,” Gilgamesh said. The student muttered something to himself and walked away, probably kicking a crumpled piece of paper or something like a depressed little squid.

Eventually, Enkidu finally arrived. He took a large swig from a bottle of vodka hastily hidden in a paper bag and sheathed his blood stained sword.

“How many bears did you kill? Apparently our weak ass students can’t handle that ursine menace themselves. Typical,” Gilgamesh said.

“There are still a great many left. I fear the best solution would be for the whole campus to stay within the building until the beasts move on to terrorize some other midwestern town,” Enkidu said. Then he kissed Gilgamesh square on the lips, a quick but solid lock of lips. There was nothing more because there was still a child seething with rage in the room.

“I’m sorry for this screaming child. They’ll calm down eventually according to the Akhetaton imposter that sent them,” Gilgamesh explained. Enkidu closed the door behind himself. The child started beating the ever loving shit out of a pillow. Two strong female characters began to speak outside of Gilgamesh’s office.

“Wow this whole bear situation is so crazy. I thought we were just going to have a normal college experience but now we can’t even go outside. I have to take online classes now!” Female Character #1 said.

“Yeah and people are partying outside even though every time that happens they all get mauled by bears. And for what? To own the Libs?” Female Character #2 said.

“Wow that’s so awful Female Character #2. I hope we will be done with these uncertain times soon. What will it be, three weeks at least? Assuming this partying stops,” Female Character #1 replied.

“Yeah Female Character #1. I’m so glad we’re having this conversation. It’s helping me clear my head and also allowing the universe to pass the bechdel test. God bless,” Female Character #2 said. Gilgamesh decided to stop eavesdropping because that’s rude.

Eventually the angry child finally wore himself out and just collapsed onto the floor, completely devoid of energy, possibly dead. Gilgamesh picked him up and sat him up on his office chair.

“Don’t shit yourself,” Gilgamesh said.

“Oh my god you’re so good with kids, that’s so sexy,” Enkidu said. Gilgamesh shook his head.  
“Bold of you to assume that I have kids or want kids, or have had kids, in any capacity, timeline, or continuity. That would literally never happen, especially not in high school. Anyway, I’m just waiting for Dean Dean Winchester to pick up this little brat.”

Gilgamesh and Enkidu just stood there for a while, their eyes rolling into the back of their heads as the world temporarily erased all sapiance from humanity. The bears roamed free outside, gathering berries and devouring the fearless campus squirrels. Where had the berry bushes manifested on the gentrified campus anyway? The world may never know.

Gilgamesh’s office was occupied, yet lonely. He had a list of his most hated students beside his desk. His spear rested against a wall. It would have been incredibly easy for the child to have grabbed it and accidentally stabbed themself, but that didn’t happen so no wrong was done despite the irresponsibility. Gilgamesh clearly was an incredibly stable adult with no issues whatsoever.

Sapiance returned to humanity and nobody ever knew what happened. The bears still remained, doing normal bear things. In the absence of human thought, they had time to contemplate the meaning of life, a privilege that all animals have, but humans believe they are alone because they cannot bark like a dog or roar like a bear. Such is the anthropocentric nature of the world humans built. Chinese Water Deer are actually the most intellectually superior species on earth, but they simply choose not to make a big deal about it.

Gilgamesh was suddenly overcome by intense intrusive thoughts, and his only coping mechanism was stabbing, so he grabbed his spear.

“Let’s go slay some bears,” he said, “if we work together, we can win.” Enkidu nodded. They locked the child in the office. It’s fine. The spear wasn’t there anymore so there was nothing they could accidentally stab themself with.

When they got outside, the bears were just chilling. They were peacefully eating berries from the berry bushes of mysterious origin, their cute, fuzzy round ears twitching when they heard Gilgamesh and Enkidu approach.

While Enkidu was a fearsome warrior, when fighting together, the bears realized that they could never match the ferocity of their fighting spirit. But they did not flee, as it was not time yet. The bears normally phased in and out of existence in places they were needed, and didn’t leave until they had fulfilled their cosmic purpose. They were sent by their god, Unias, to teach everyone the moral of life’s story. But unfortunately they could not do that, because they all died. Now humanity will never know the true wisdom of the universe. What the fuck.

Covered in the blood of cosmic bears sent by a now dead god, Gilgamesh and Enkidu began to passionately make out. Everyone clapped except for Dean Dean Winchester, who called them a slur, but a gay pride flag was blown in his face and he began to sob because he actually had internalized homophobia the whole time.


	7. older than the trees

The silver Kia pulls into the parking space, making a grotesque squelch as it runs over dirty slush. Mere moments after it stops moving Enkidu pulls the door open, placing one foot down and immediately regretting his choice of footwear. Before he has the chance to put the other foot down, his shoe is already soaked. He groans and sets the other foot down into the slush, accepting his fate. 

The driver’s door opens and shuts, and he can just barely see the top of his husband’s head over the roof of the car. He opens the door to the back seat, reaches in, and lifts their daughter out of the car seat. She’s mostly asleep, and in her sleepy state she snuggles close to his chest. He almost resents the fact that he has to put her in the stroller. He knows that if he doesn’t she’ll inevitably get fussy and demand to be put down. When Gilgamesh unfolds the stroller, he lays her down inside and tucks her in. 

“I know you’re thinking the room should be green, but I think we should really consider orange,” Gilgamesh says as he pushes the stroller towards the front door, “green is just such a cliché gender neutral color.”

“Orange feels too vibrant, I want the room to be a calming space,” Enkidu says. 

“I know, but I think there could be a nice creamsicle color that wouldn’t be too much.”

The pair walks through the front door of the Home Depot, barely noticing the automatic doors as they continue their idle chatter. They’re on one singular mission, and they have no intention of letting something as trivial as an automatic door distract them. They breeze past the hot dog stand, the christmas decorations, and even the lighting department. Although the lighting department calls them, they do not answer the call. 

The sheer number of paint samples is both exciting and overwhelming. Enkidu’s eyes wander to the cool greens and barely there teals; Gilgamesh’s snap straight to the oranges. World War Three could begin outside and the two of them wouldn’t notice. All that matters is paint. 

“You know, dearest, here’s a lovely shade of orange right here. It’s a wonderful calming orange, it’d warm the room right up,” Gilgamesh says, pointing to a square of paper with an admittedly subtle shade of orange on it.

“It is nice, but I just worry that it’s too summery. It’s just that orange is such a polarizing color, what if they hate it?” Enkidu muses. 

World War Three has begun in the store. Orange or green? Every nation must throw their weight behind a side or the nursery will simply never get done. They obviously can’t do both. Orange **_and_** green? Not only is that hideous, but it’s a compromise. There is no compromise in war. Gilgamesh knows that this Home Depot is about to become the unfortunate battleground for the next installment in the orange versus green war, Enkidu knows the same. 

“We can always repaint,” Gilgamesh retorts. 

“That is true, but do you really want to?”

“It’d be years down the line, we don’t have to worry about that now.” 

Enkidu sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knows his husband is right, it’s a nice shade of orange. He’s just not sure how it’ll look on the wall. They know how green looks in their house, the hallway is green, the living room is green. They look amazing. None of the rooms are orange. He worries that the transition from the sky blue hallway to the orange bedroom would be too extreme. 

“I know what you’re thinking, the hallway to bedroom transition. I think it could work.” 

“Are you sure? Orange is just such a hard color to work with.”

In his heart, he knows his husband is right, and the tides are no longer in his favor. Orange and blue are complementary colors, after all. In desperation, he turns to search for an impartial third party. 

His eyes land on what is likely the strangest pair of people he’s ever seen. On the left is an incredibly tall man, absentmindedly flipping through a design booklet. He’s wearing heeled boots, only serving to further assert his vertical dominance. His hair is long, although he can’t tell how long. It’s in a neat braid down his back, coming down to just below his shoulder blades. He’s wearing enough jewelry that any metal detector in a three mile radius would detect him. 

His partner is noticeably shorter, and noticeably less flashy. His garb is no less outlandish, everything about him feels simultaneously out of place and like it’s exactly how it should be. Frankly, he’s quite handsome. Blond hair pokes out from underneath a wide-brimmed hat, hiding some of his face. What’s visible of his face is quite comely. His features aren’t exactly delicate, but they don’t demand too much. They’re balanced, and the subtle stubble across his chin completes his appearance. He looks paternal, and most importantly he looks like he might have a strong opinion on what color to paint a nursery. Additionally, most of what he wears is green, which is a good sign for Enkidu. 

Enkidu decides to tap the shorter man on the shoulder, not wanting to break the focus of the other. He looks intense, as though interrupting him might be a death sentence. His allyship would turn the tides completely, but he’s not sure it’s worth the risk. 

“Excuse me, but my husband and I are having a little bit of a disagreement about what color to paint our nursery, could you offer an outside opinion for us?” Enkidu asks in a way that he hopes conveys a hint of shame. 

“Certainly!” the stranger responds brightly. He then turns to his partner, “you’ll be alright if I leave you with the booklet for a moment, yeah?” 

His accent is… not something that Enkidu can exactly place. It sounds British. Almost. Something about it is just a bit to the left. 

His partner grunts affirmatively, too engrossed in paint chips to understand language. 

“My husband thinks we should go with this orange,” he gestures at the orange sample, “but I think that some shade of green would be preferable.” 

The man strokes his chin for a second, processing his options. 

“I can see this isn’t your first,” he says, gesturing toward the stroller, “what color did you paint that room?”

“Green,” Gilgamesh replies. 

“Hmm. Is the room already green then?” 

That was something Enkidu hadn’t thought about. The room _was_ already green. He knew he’d made a good choice in allies. 

“It is,” Gilgamesh admitted. 

“I’ve got a kid of my own, you know. He’s grown now, but if I’d had another I don’t think I would’ve bothered repaintin’. Just leave it as it is.”

In all the anxiety of having another baby on the way, neither of them had honestly considered the fact that they didn’t have to repaint. They’d painted the nursery for their first, why shouldn’t they just do everything the exact same as last time? They already have furniture that matches sealed away in the attic somewhere. 

“We could just leave it, I suppose,” Gilgamesh said.

This victory doesn’t feel like a satisfying conclusion. If both sides simply agree that the war is stupid and that they were both wrong, then no one wins. They both just pack up their guns and go home. Enkidu wants to plant his flag on the top of the hill. He wants to _win_ , not just not lose. 

“I’m not sure how I feel about the current green, honestly,” he adds, trying to re-ignite some of the flames of war. 

“I think it’s fine. We should just keep it. I don’t want to re-paint it more than I have to. It was so much work the first time.” 

“Maybe we could pick up a couple orange chips, just to see?”

“Maybe,” Gilgamesh says noncommittally. 

“If that’s all you need me for, I’ve got a kitchen I’ve got to paint,” the stranger says, backing away toward his husband (who is very rapidly nearing the end of the design booklet). 

“That’s it, thank you!” Enkidu says, hiding his home decor inferiority behind a smile.

His shoulders sink at the unsatisfying conclusion to their war. He’d wanted bloodshed in the middle of the Home Depot. Instead, he got a very sensible compromise. 

With a sigh, he plucks exactly one of the creamsicle orange paint chips from the display and shoves it in his pocket. He hadn’t won, Gilgamesh hadn’t won. No, that confusing stranger had won. With his wide-brimmed hat and his outlandish attire, he’d single-handedly made their little war a lot less fun. 

He’s right, of course. Why repaint a room if it’s in a color you already like? Even so, it was less fun that way. In the end, they were going to leave the Home Depot with nothing more than a single solitary paint sample, doomed to a lonely death in the recycling bin at home. Maybe they’d pick up a hot dog on their way out.


	8. take me (home)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warning: explicit sexual content

The Home Depot hot dog stand stood proudly just beyond the cash registers. Gilgamesh watched the logs of meat roll mesmerizingly across the heater. His stomach rumbled, demanding a taste of the treat it so desired. Enkidu’s mouth watered at the enticing aroma of the steaming sausages. They turned to each other in unison, knowing exactly what the other man wanted. It was just the two of them and no one else was there to judge them for indulging.

They approached the counter where they were confronted by what seemed like endless options. Every sausage, bun, and topping they could imagine was there, in little tubs out front or in the fridge off to the left. But the tastiest looking thing at the hot dog stand wasn’t on the menu. The cashier leaned against the back counter, rolling a joint and flicking his long black hair out of his eyes. He tilted his head up ever so slightly and spotted the couple, who looked like they were going to start drooling.

“Can I help you?” said the cashier, fluttering over to the register. “You two boys look hungry.” He said smoothly, resting his strong hand under his chin.

“We… uh…” Enkidu started. The mysterious figure probed him with his maroon eyes. Enkidu felt his face flush. Embarrassed, he broke eye contact, but he couldn’t help but examine the man’s curves. 

“We’ll take two hot dogs, please.” Gilgamesh said, patting his pockets down for his wallet. 

“What kind?” Said the cashier, shifting his lustful gaze to the other man.

“What do you…” Gilgamesh looked up and saw the handsome man waiting on him. His nametag read ‘Moth.’ What a strange name… He shook his head and refocused himself. “What do you have?” Moth chuckled, his laugh felt like silk sheets billowing in the wind. 

“To be honest, the best thing we have isn’t on the menu.” he winked, slouching over the counter. Both men felt confused, aroused, intrigued and a little scared all at once. They weren’t imagining this, right? They hadn’t been hit on in ages. “I can show you if you want to come with me into the back.” What back?? They nodded enthusiastically.

Moth gestured for them to walk around the counter, and they followed obediently. Moth was taller than they expected, and his… proportions were quite generous. He snapped his fingers and a portal opened beside him. “After you, gentlemen.” 

The portal led to a very large walk-in fridge. Compartments on every wall were filled with sausages, buns, condiments, and tongs. It wasn’t cold at all, the air was warm and inviting. A large velvet chair sat in the far corner beside several lamps of varying size and color. Condoms were strewn about the floor, some of them used. This was a strange walk-in fridge. Moth kicked the condom wrappers to the side, opening one of the sausage compartments and fixing the hot and bothered couple two of his specialty dogs. 

“What’s that? I thought uh…” Enkidu said shyly.

“These are my Grass Glizzies. What were you thinking?” He kept assembling the food, placing the green-ish dogs in their buns.

“We thought that maybe you were asking us to try your sausage, Moth.” Gil chuckled nervously. 

“Mm. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Before the couple had a chance to answer, the stunning cashier handed them their food. They looked at each other, blushing in aroused confusion. “Well, what are you waiting for?” Gil and Enkidu shrugged, then eagerly wolfed down the hot dogs. Moth looked at them with a bit of concern. “Hold on, there’s a lot in that hot d-”

“HAH! This hot dog ain’t shit, Moth.” Enkidu teased. And just like that, it hit him. The Grass Glizzy.

He felt his body and mind slipping apart and vibrating out of sync. It felt… fantastic. He couldn’t help but giggle. Moth was smoking now, and the three of them were a mess. They collapsed onto the soft red chair, there was just enough room for the three of them. Moth sat in the middle, with the two DILFs on either side of him. He ran his hands through their hair. Gil nuzzled against Moth’s strong hand. 

“So what’s your REAL name anyway?” Gilgamesh said, smiling like an idiot. 

“It’s Moth Man. Moth Jeffery Wyoming Man.” he said proudly. He stood up and removed his black jean jacket, showing off his soft black wings. The two humans looked at him in awe. They didn’t know if they wanted to be him or fuck him. Probably the latter. definitely.

“You mean… you’re…” Enkidu muttered. Moth Man nodded.

“Yeah.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gilgamesh and Enkidu mounted Moth Man’s winged back, taking off into the night sky. The three incredibly zoinked men flew above the treetops, so high up that they felt like they could touch the stars. The cool pine-scented breeze caressed their skin and hair. It was like that one scene from Aladdin but they were on top of a sexy humanoid moth and also they were rock hard.

“Where the hell are we even?” Gil gasped. 

“I have no clue. I just portal’d and bwap here we are.” Moth chortled. His ability to retain erotic tension was quite impressive. I guess that’s the one thing they don’t tell you about cryptids. “You guys wanna head back to my place?”

“You mean you don’t live inside of a walk-in fridge?” Asked Enkidu, genuinely curious. Moth shot him an unamused look, and En decided to shut up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Moth landed in an abandoned, overgrown parking lot. They stood in front of a large, ivy covered building. The letters M, O, and T were left over from an old neon sign. The letter H was spray painted on next to them.

“Whaddaya think?” 

“It’s a Costco, isn’t it?”

“...no.” Moth sighed, scratching the back of his head. The three men passed through the foliage-covered entrance. Moth Man’s home was unusually extravagant. It was furnished and decorated tastefully, the homeowner seemed to have a thing for vintage and gothic aesthetics. One corner of the large room was covered in posters and drawings addressed to Moth from his adoring fans. The floor was littered with gifts made just for him.

Gilgamesh and Enkidu didn’t know where to look. Every inch of Moth’s chamber was exquisite. “C’mon boys,” said the chiseled goth, “isn’t this the part you’ve been waiting for?” They nodded. Moth chuckled and led them deeper into the maze of his luxurious abode. They came to what could have been the refrigerated produce section, except the interior was filled with cushions, sheets, tapestries, and blankets of every size, texture. and color.

“This is my fuck room.” Moth Man said proudly. He took En and Gil by the hand and led them inside. The couple felt nervous, but the thrill of the moment was unlike any other. The three of them collapsed onto the red silk sheets below them, smiling giddily and blushing. Moth brought the men close and kissed them both, Gilgamesh first, then Enkidu. This somehow came naturally to Gilgamesh, Moth Man’s lips felt so comforting and familiar. They were made for making love. Enkidu was apprehensive at first, but when Moth wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer, he knew he made the right decision. His velvety tongue felt amazing against his own, and he started to imagine how good it would feel if it were somewhere else.

Moth played with the collar of Gil’s shirt, smiling and moaning softly while Enkidu kissed his neck. “I don’t think you’ll be needing this, Gilgamesh.” he said, his voice like honey. 

“H-how do you know my name?” Gilgamesh stammered. Moth Man put a finger to his lips. 

“That’s what you’re going to question?” he guided his finger into the man’s mouth, which instinctively started to tease and suck on it gently. “Take it off, sweetheart.” He slowly pulled his hand away. “You too, Enkidu.” The couple gladly undressed in front of him, quickly and clumsily. They wanted - no - needed to satisfy him. They looked to Moth, waiting for approval. “Mmm… good. I need your help now.” he gestured to his own clothes. 

“Yes, anything for you Moth Man.” Said Enkidu bashfully. He got to work on Moth’s tight black jeans while Gilgamesh started unbuttoning his shirt. By the time his jeans were off, the couple could see the silhouette of Moth Man’s brilliant length. He noticed the two watching him. 

“Go on. It won’t bite.” He smirked. Enkidu gently laid a hand on Moth’s bulge, rubbing gently. Gilgamesh leaned in for a kiss before positioning himself beside his husband. Together, they pulled back his tight briefs. Moth’s dongus wongus sprung out. It was impressive, definitely bigger than the other men’s dicks. They stared in amazement. “What, not big enough for you?” Moth jested. 

“No, not at all! That’s not why we-” Enkidu and Gilgamesh said, trying not to offend him. 

“Sure, I believe you.” Moth snickered. “Is this better?” His massive love rod was obscured by a gold, glittering mist. This had to be the weed, right? When the mist settled, Moth Man’s exquisite beef whistle was revealed, even longer and girthier than before. Not too long for a humanoid to handle, Moth wanted to make sure that the two men could please him properly. 

“What the actual fuck was that.” Said Enkidu, who was now drooling. 

“It’s your dream come true, sweetheart,” the cryptid sighed. “now get to work.” Enkidu guided Moth’s dude piston into his mouth and started sucking like it was what he was made for. Gilgamesh positioned himself at Moth Man’s feet and gently kissed his soles. The cryptid let out a moan, running his hand through Enkidu’s hair. “Yes… good…” he growled. He loved being taken care of.

Suddenly, Moth Man had enough. “Come here.” he demanded. He pulled Enkidu on top of him, starting to grind against him. 

“F- fu-” Enkidu started to moan.

“What was that?” Moth teased, rubbing the other man’s thighs. He gestured for Gilgamesh to come closer. He kneeled beside him, waiting for his next order. Moth teased Gil’s manhood, gently wrapping his strong hand around it. The gentle pressure of Moth’s fingers on his custard cannon was driving him crazy. 

Enkidu was growing impatient. While Moth was busy with his husband, he greedily slid his Action Jackson inside of him. The three erupted in a chorus of moans and grunts and other various pleasure noises. Moth leaned over and rubbed his lips and tongue against Gil’s pocket rocket. When he gave Moth verbal confirmation that he was properly pleasuring his thundersword, Moth took the whole thing in his mouth.  
“Oh, Moth!” he cried, already feeling himself getting close. Riding him harder, Enkidu’s trouser snake _thwapped_ against Moth’s chest. That was more than enough to send him over the edge. 

“Moth, I-” Gil whined.

“M-Moth Man…” Enkidu begged. Moth smirked.

“Oh, I know. I want you to finish, too. Cum for me.”  
The two humanoids released their loads one after the other, both onto Moth’s muscular chest. The husbands laid down, quivering and moaning. Moth, however, still needed his needs met. He began to unspool his love hose. The men came over to help, they used their mouths to pleasure his icing shotgun from either side. “Yes… fuck. Just like that…” They flicked their tongues against his single barrel pump action johnson even more vigorously. 

Moth Jeffery Wyoming Man let out a terrifying, primal, guttural sound. One could even call it unholy, demonic. It was as if the pits of hell themselves had opened up through fissures in the earth’s crust. His heat-seeking moisture missile started throbbing, and before he knew it, he had covered his lovers’ faces in his hot, sticky cum. His lovers who, at this point, were on the other side of the room. They had backed off once the “moaning” had started, which was reasonable. 

Once the cryptid had regained his composure, he cleaned up all of the weird jizz with a snap of his fingers. 

“Whoa. That’s way better than a tissue or a sock or whatever.” Gil whispered to Enkidu.

“Right? I don’t think that amount of semen is normal under any circumstances, but at least he can make   
the cleanup easy.” Enkidu replied.

“But what is normal about this guy?”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” 

“Hey,” Moth said, almost shyly. “come back…” The husbands did, of course, laying beside the fluffy hottie. 

“What’s wrong, Moth?” said Gilgamesh.

“I just need my cuddles…” he replied. The men shrugged, then wrapped their arms around Moth. They started feeling sleepy. The hunk was so warm and soft… they struggled to keep their eyes open. “owo” said the cryptid before nuzzling his partners and drifting off.

“Did he…?”  
“I.. I guess…”

The lovers slept peacefully inside the abandoned Costco.


	9. Radio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: explicit sexual content, body horror, gore

“ARISE YE, THE FUROR OF HELL IS UPON YOU!” Screamed the Reverend, as he reached deep within his vagina and pulled out a fourty dollar bill covered in mustard and lint. Gilgamesh moaned from the pew. The cathedral was built of decaying limestone and constructed in a mid 15th century Frankish Gothic style. Your guess is as good as mine as to how it ended up being adopted into the Serbian Orthodox denomination. The old woman next to him spoke up, and the sound that emerged from her throat was much like the croak of a frog. 

“How would you describe your relationship with god, sonny?” 

Gilgamesh got a good look at her face. Wrinkles folded into deeper wrinkles in a fractalish pattern that seemed like it could go on forever, deep into her dermis. Despite this, her nose was strangely bulbous, like it would pop if it were squeezed tightly. Her eyes, well, her eyes were missing; empty sockets that revealed segments of alabaster bone at their edges. He thought of her voice, and wondered what sound a frog would make if it were squeezed until popped, and then noticed he had zoned out just staring and thinking at her. How long had he not responded for? Seconds, minutes? The reverend was still rambling on his pulpit. She seemed very patient regardless.

“Well, this god isn’t mine. I’m just borrowing him.”

The old lady smiled, revealing three concentric layers of yellowed, rotting teeth.

“I will suck you”

“Oh, suck yourself, hag.”

The teeth started to rotate, the old lady wouldn’t leave Gilgamesh alone. He tried his best to focus on the sermon. 

“AND THEN I TOOK THE BITCH, AND I STRAPPED IT TO THE TABLE, AND I TOOK THE SCALPEL IN THE NAME OF THE LORD!!!!!” Father Bonovic, son of Bono, was getting really into it today. His hat had long since fallen to the ground, and frankincense smoke was wildly wisping about the cavernous chamber. 

“I TOOK THAT HOLY SCALPEL AND CUT INTO IT! AND ALL THE CAVIAR YOU COULD WANT CAME SPILLING OUT! ROE AND EGGS AND SLIMY GOOP FLOODED THE ROOM IN HIS GOOD NAME!”  
From his safe distance, Gilgamesh fantasized about killing the reverend. Sadly, the talk therapy wasn’t working, and his musings on murder were still too subconsciously linked to his musings on sex, and he was far too faithful to Enkidu, so he put those thoughts to rest. Still, he could almost feel the tingle on his fingers of what it would be like to poke around in Reverend Bonovic’s intestines, to break his bones and climb in his husk. That was the old Gilgamesh, he wouldn’t go back. These thoughts made him ache. He needed something steady. He needed Enkidu. So as to not interrupt the proceedings, he recited the incantation under his breath. 

“ Enkidu where are you?  
Enkidu where are you?  
Are you in my mind?  
Are you at the zoo?  
Enkidu come to me,  
Come down from the hills,  
Emerge from the sea,  
Crawl out of the earth,  
You were surgically birthed,  
In the land of my dreams  
You appear as a lark  
Who was second in line  
At the industrial park!”

In a puff of smoke, Enkidu crawled out of the old woman’s lamprey mouth, covered in afterbirth. Or was it semen? Memories of mothman once again entered his mind. 

“It’s about time you got here.” Gilgamesh whispered.

“Sorry it took me so long, I was doing my… taxes.” Enkidu replied, conspicuously. A theremin and organ duet floated through the air, seemingly emerging from nowhere. The couple exchanged a look. It lasted months. It lasted years. It lasted seconds. Time was dead in this church, and it was He who killed it. The sermon went on. 

“AND THEN I STUCK THE BOOTY FIRMLY INSIDE THE ASS!” Bonovic wailed, waving his noodle arms in the air like car wash advertisements.  
“THERE WAS FIRE! THERE WAS BRIMSTONE! MY SHOWER WAS COVERED IN VOMIT! IT WAS THE BEST AND THE WORST OF TIMES! I WENT TO MY MOTHER’S GRAVE AND DEMANDED SHE BRING ME AN INFANT RONALD REAGAN SO THAT I MAY STICK MY TONGUE IN HIS MISERABLE MOUTH!”

~~~

And that is how Sundays were. Winter was in its last throes: the melting of ice thimbles gave way to struggling flowerbuds on the trees lining the lonely avenues of the city, the rabbits and foxes, peeking around corners of truck-populated alleyways were beginning to shed their shaggy hibernatory furs, soon to start their predatory tango once again, and an effortless intimation of hope despite all else tugged at the bottom of everyone’s hearts; for this is how a new year begins.  
Kitka stood on the  
Gilgamesh was in a sea change himself, finally beginning to accept his future life of domesticism. He would steal glances at Enkidu around the house, toying with his psyche in his mind. Had he accepted this too? Was there not an iota of the Bull-Man from wartime left, who would slice a foe open with a single swash of a blade, and drink from their draining veins  
precipice of the parking lot on 5th  
while facing another? Gilgamesh had always feared that settling down would make him fall out of love with Enkidu, but for, oh, weeks now he had experienced recurring dreams of growing old with him. It is a beautiful thing, love like that, he thought. To be able to kill with the man you nuzzle into on a cold, fearsome night. It must happen so rarely. But Gilgamesh couldn’t tell what Enkidu wanted. He couldn’t help but worry that it was all a sham, that he had  
street, gazing at the ground below.  
forced this man into a life he didn’t want. That he couldn’t live. But after all, it was only a  
It would be cold.  
worry. It was only a worry. It was only a worry. It was only a worry. It was only a worry. It was o  
It was cold up here too. The goldfish, still in its bowl, whispered  
\---------------- Enkidu was in the other room, reading a book. A book of lies. Something had to be done. The brain of a man can fester when left in such a position, like a cell osmosing in putrid water, unaware of its imminent demise. From the kitchen, Gilgamesh watched him stretch farther and father away, the distance between them was miles, he was out of reach. He started his trek through the hills, he had to stop this.

“htrae eht etsat dna tsaf knird ,evol ym ,rehgih hcaorppa setar ehT”  
Kitka looked back in disgust.  
“You will stop following me!”  
“deeccus ton lliw uoY .aktiK ,dnim ruoy otni gnimrow sraey tneps evah I”  
“Look at me and listen, you ugly fucking icthyic beast! I am man alive! I have agency! I will survive you! I will emerge from the pile of ashes you’ve turned me into!”  
“.em ot rettam on s’ti ,lliw uoy revetahw flesruoy lleT”  
“Tell me you love me.” Gilgamesh had finished his long journey. It took him 1000 years. He was an old man, but young all the same.  
“What’s wrong with you, honey?” Enkidu replied.  
“I need to know that you want this. That what we’re doing is right. We’re having a second child.”  
“Of course we are.”  
“Well, what do you feel about it? I need to know!” Gilgamesh was in a panic;,; his flesh melted into bone and off his face onto the upholstery of the couch.  
“Through the children, we have the chance to rebirth ourselves into the next generation. To continue the paths our souls have set. The bond of love we have created will form them into the adults of tomorrow. That’s our battle. More important than defending Uruk.”  
Kitka was in a frenzy, pacing back and forth on the roof, frothing at the mouth, he grabbed a lamp post and frantically attempted to scramble up its shaft.  
“EREH YATS !TAHT OD T’NOD”  
Every part of Kitkas body screamed, or wanted to.  
“Enkidu, I’d like to take you out on the town. The old fashioned way.” Gilgamesh was young again. The living room was back next to the kitchen, the mile-long abyss between them vanished in the blink of an eye.  
“Sounds good, but first…” 

The first thing on the agenda was to plaster up the hole in the wall created by the instantaneous expansion of Enkidu’s cock. Gilgamesh, plaster bucket and trowel in hand, set to work like a mason, incorporating his partner into the architecture of the house; yes, they were going balls to the wall this time. 

The fish was at his work, and it was a methodical professional. There was to be a slow dissection of Kitka’s mind and body. It started, of course, with memories, tearing to shreds the faces and characteristics of those once loved and cherished. It’s easier to start with the acquaintances, but then, once the parents and lovers have been eviscerated, the rest of time can be dealt with. 

Gilgamesh loved the slight resistance the folds of Enkidu’s anus offered the head of his penis. He continued to tease his lover’s hungry asshole, even moving down to scrape the seam-like ridge of his taint. He wouldn’t penetrate yet, the plaster was still drying. 

The mind is just a shadow of the larger structure of the brain. Like shadows, or ghosts, it is almost pitifully easy to manipulate. The memories were all discordant symbols, loose metallic confetti raining on polished toads in a sandstorm of anguish. Language was next, words to abstractions, numbers to dots, and then everything could be blended and spat out of Kitka’s bleeding ears. The process was working sublimely, it was nearly time to move to the rest of the body. 

The plaster was dry, Enkidu was fully trapped in their reconstructive creation. It was time to bone. Somewhat surprisingly, his rectum was still tight, despite the extensive use it had received over the years. Almost painfully so, but that was nothing Gilgamesh was averse to. He had found his rhythm, creating standing longitudinal waves in Enkidu’s intestinal walls. He needed to be having more fun. He wrapped his calloused hand around his lover’s neck and slowly pushed him towards the wall.  
“Eat the paint.”  
“What?”  
“Will you eat the paint for me? Chip it off with your teeth”

The destruction of Kitka’s body started with the joints. Slowly separating each male from female connector, letting the nitrogen rush in, and snapping the tendons one by one, the body bulged, bones distorting and knotting muscle, pressing against skin, starting to tear from pore to pore. The skull fragmented into sharp shards which in a frenzy tore at the eroding brain, the eyes and tongue, which had bulged and expanded to grotesque proportions, finally popped and spewed pus all over the damp concrete. Kitka had stepped out of line, this was only necessary. 

Enkidu's slavering maw was now filled with chipped paint and dusty plaster, his eyes crossed in the throes of pleasure. His tongue slid up and down the damaged wall with each successive thrust from his love-drunk husband. They were approaching climax now, both of them, like L'Arrivée d'un train en gare de La Ciotat except if there were two trains and one of them had its dick and balls plastered in the wall. 

Finally, it was done.

A euphoric final ramming jolt and Gilgamesh exploded into his husband.  
And the body that had once been alive was a twitching soup of muscle fibre and stomach fluid.  
Enkidu came as well, spurting his ‘gurt into the lazily assembled HVAC of the house.  
The goldfish gathered the remnants together in a neat pile.

It was time to fulfill his promise. Gilgamesh opened the car door for Enkidu, put on some doo-wop music, and they set off for downtown. They made it to the milkshake parlor,

Milk Shake Jerry’s,

after only having run over two people, but they were both geriatrics, so Enkidu wasn’t really too broken up about it. They both ordered chocolate malts and cruised down main street as the sun set behind them, sharing chaste kisses at stoplights and holding hands over the gearshift. It was a night as perfect as any night could have been, really. Gilgamesh let his worries slip away into the evening mist. This is what he wanted-- needed to do every day for the rest of his life. Adventure be damned. The days of adventure were over for Gilgamesh, it was really and truly time to commit himself to this man. He raised his mouth towards the sky and let out an ecstatic holler, wishing the stars could hear him, wishing everyone on earth could be notified of his love. 

“I think we should park the car, take a walk.” Mentioned Enkidu.

“What a wonderful idea.” 

They filled up a meter and held hands down the sparse city streets, complimenting the newly-sprouted crocuses and encouraging the blossoming plants. As the night went on, they moved closer and closer into each other's jackets, only wishing they could merge warmths and become one instead. And then they turned 5th street.  
And then they turned 5th street.

The entrails came tumbling down from the sky as the goldfished laughed, a mighty rumble that sent a tectonic rumble through the sky and parted the clouds. Lightning struck in circles all around them and the atmosphere opened up to reveal a vacuous black void directly above. Gilgamesh and Enkidu were soaked by the glop that once was a hopeful young thing named Kitka. Realities diverged and converged: (that Gilgamesh once and was Enkidu a were hopeful soaked young by thing the named glop Kitka). The dam broke: SPLASH! The army arrived: 🎺🎺 “Charge!” Bang! Crash! The ground opened up and swallowed nations whole! We would never recover. The world had decided. You decided. It was all up to you!

Prices rose! Participation fell! A spiral in the distance grew larger, logarithmically. Jazz became “in” again. The chaos knew no end. Ladyish men and Mannish women ran government. Years passed. Gilgamesh injected the serum into Enkidus turgid staff.  
“ARISE, YE! THE FUROR OF HELL IS UPON YOU!”  
And Enkidu sprouted a second dick! And a third, on his forehead!

“Now fuck me! Fuck me in the Eureka!” Gilgamesh gurgled frantically.  
Enkindu attempted to the best of his ability, but it had all gone wrong. As he struggled to mash his ever-increasing number of penises into Gilgamesh’s cramped urethra, Gilgamesh began to urinate uncontrollably. The serum had backfired, there were more and more phalluses sprouting out of Enkindu’s maimed body by the second. The millisecond. Gilgamesh’s poor penis was torn apart in quarters, splitting down the middle like a blooming flower. Fireworks erupted in the distance. The kingdom of Uruk was great! 

A wall of darting eyes unwilling to look at our hero rose out of the ground before him. To enter would be madness...


	10. i hear her voice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: implied gore, minor character death

Over a deep cerulean swath of ocean, the rising sun’s rays painted the early dawn sky in pinks and pale oranges. The gently lapping waves darkened a narrow strip of sand, perfuming the air with the irregular reverberations of the great beyond. Out over open sea, a lone seagull soared, calling out into the formless ether. Faint echoes of this drifted, mist-like, to the sand below, where it entangled with the sound of the water, this synthesis yielding an intoxicating blend of auditory stimulation.

Not a soul was wandering along the promenade, nor letting the water wet their feet at the shoreline. The changing tents stood empty in the morning glow. All was at peace, and yet the landscape was tinged with the ineluctable caress of solitude, as if the very ocean itself was crying out for companionship, having passed the long night by its lonesome.

In the distance, a large ship caught the rays of the rising sun and appeared to be going up in flames. Were the sailors onboard aware of this fact? That they, the very pinnacle of the human spirit, those brave seamen conquering the final horizon of humanity, could only be seen from the shore as heading towards a certain death? The exhaust from the smokestack rose with conviction, only to be dissipated in the unceasing glow of the dawn.

Pulling off the otherwise deserted highway, a car pulled into the small parking lot a short distance from the beach. A long figure emerged, carrying a small bag, and headed for the changing tents. Shortly after, another car came, and then yet another. Gradually, as the sun rose, the beach began to show signs of life, the ship in the distance passing ambivalent to its land-bound voyeurs. A volleyball net was erected, and soon the air, which had felt so still only hours before, resounded with jubilant shouts, the clinking of Coca-Cola bottles, and idle chatter.

It was in this atmosphere that Gilgamesh and Enkidu arrived, eager to partake in the various activities afforded to them.

“Are you sure this is the place?” Enkidu said, a large paper map laying unfolded across his ample thighs.

“I mean, there’s a sign right there.” Gilgamesh gestured vaguely to the right side of the road, where a variety of colorful billboards served as a sort of screen to protect those on the beach from the prying eyes of travelers on the highway. “Sand Hole Shoal.”

Enkidu let out a sudden deep moan, vibrating the interior of the car. “Can’t we get there faster? I’m so excited.”

Gilgamesh said nothing in return, merely pressing down hard on the gas pedal and rocketing the pair into the parking lot, nearly bowling over an oddly-shaped, strangely lumpy woman in the process.

“Wasn’t that Gertrude Stein?”

The question hung in the air, much in the way that dust hung in the air following the collapse of the Twin Towers. Similarly, the mirthful shouts and idle ministrations of the revelers on the waterfront kicked up a large quantity of sand into the air, settling into every disgusting exposed pore and orifice. HOLE

“Y’know, sand in the urethra is really not that bad a proposition…” Already preoccupied with lustful thoughts, Gilgamesh stared at the sand that made up the floor of the well-loved (a term here meaning the walls are fully soaked with cum) changing tent and considered shoving a large quantity of it up his ass, nose, and flaccid penis as he stripped nude.

“Hey, Enkidu?”

“What?”

“How would you feel if you went to fuck me and a bunch of sand came pouring out of my ass?”

“Very well, thank you.”

Among the revelers on the beach:

  * Einstein (on the beach)
  * a man who looked like your father, who appeared to be lactating
  * Former Prime Minister of Japan Shinzo Abe (what a smokin’ hot body on that hunk of beef!)
  * a four-legged starfish named Alejandro, with a foul mouth
  * ...Hatsune Miku?
  * a sentient bag of ketamine, desperate to be consumed by someone, anyone, to make it feel whole again. Since the wife left, he hadn’t been feeling like himself lately, and always turned to beaches like these to get his fill of being consumed whole by a nude man of approximately 70 years of age. It made him feel wanted, needed, and hey, we all need that from time to time, don’t we? Don’t be a fucking asshole, you piece of troglodyte shit freewheeling in the suitcase of an elderly Mongolian man on the way to his son’s funeral (he was killed by Aum Shinrikyo)



Though all these objects doubtlessly had important and interesting lives of their own, one in particular caught the eye of all who saw it.

The whispers of the crowd were palpable: “Say, isn’t that Jeb Bush?” “Yeah, and what’s he holding… a Nutribullet?”

A familiar refrain echoed over the unending waves, nearly reaching the flaming ship. “Whatever will he do with that?”

**_—————_ **

Say, I really wish I was President. Another day in the life of Jeb Bush passes without distraction or difficulty, and yet the emptiness within me threatens to consume me whole, unless I clap. Always with the clapping, Clapping, never ceasing. Clap clap. clap clap ... clap  
clapclapclapclapclapcl*pclap clap

Every day I clap, and every day I think about the executive orders I passed while serving as the 43rd Governor of Florida, from 1999 to 2007. None clap of them involved clapping, or so I seem to recall.

What am I doing here?

Oh, that’s right. I’ve recently come across some internet research highlighting the effects of Viagra on the penile organ, and I began to wonder clap if there was such a thing as anti-Viagra. Not that I need Viagra, my wanger works just fine, thank you for asking. clap clap clap clap 

Anyway, I come here to Sand Hole Shoal to get my daily fill of opioids clap. The fill a whole in my heart that has appeared since I conceded the race for the presidency please clap.

So here I go, injecting a concentrated solution of 200 mg fentanyl directly into my gooch, spinal cord, and left ventricle.

AAAAAAH THAT’S THE GOOD SHIT CLAP CLAP CLAP

Now I’m in the water. It feels good on my very erect penile organ. I’m swimming now. Now I’m waving to the shore

How can I make this day better? Well, there’s always one thing that gets my blood flowing. Today, I think I’m finally going to do it. clap

I have here a standard, Walmart issue Nutribullet blender. The price tag is even still attached!

"Jeb" Bush (born Fery 11, 953) is an Ameripolitician who served as the 43rd clap Governor of Florida from 1999 to H. W. Bush and former First clap lopment, and in 1986 became Florid's Secretary of Commerce until 1988. At that time, heed his father's successful campaign fclapor the Presidency. 

I’m sorry, Mommy, but I’m going to put my penis in the Nutribullet. I won’t miss it.

—————

Night had fallen. In the distance, foghorns. All was still on the beachfront. From the woods adjacent to the other side of the highway, the faint sound of rustling leaves could be heard. From them, gremlin-like, emerged a figure bent nearly double. It was Gertrude Stein, in all of her questionably lumpy glory. As the apex predator of this general area, she only comes out at night to hunt and give unsolicited financial advice to anyone who dares come to Sand Hole Shoal at night.

However, tonight was different. The wind howled in strange and bizarre ways, and the sea began to sing a song, as if urging people to stay away. None of this would stop Gertrude Stein, though. She waddled, as she so usually did, onto the highway, and was well on her merry way when a car, driven by the local district attorney, plowed directly into her powerful frame and sent her flying into the surf, several meters below.

Water mixed with blood. Blood, with water. The purple mixture was swept out from under the sumptuous bleeding breasts of Gertrude Stein and carried out to sea. Perhaps, one day, the crew of the ship will spy it, moving like a sentient creature out among the ocean currents. Perhaps one day it will have traveled all the way to the Arctic Circle, where it will become frozen into a glacier, trapped for all eternity, a symbol of mankind’s unending folly.

With her fading strength, Gertrude Stein, an old lesbian good-for-nothing pile of wasted atoms, opened her mouth and began to sing the mourning song of her people: (it is important to note here that Gertrude Stein, that most woeful of the Lost Generation authors, was in fact good-for-nothing _because_ she was a lesbian).

You say potato, I say potato  
You say tomato, I say tomato  
Turn off the radio  
They’re not playing my song anymore  
I miss you  
I could go on with this.

Blood sprang forth, milk-like, from the aged teats, those that had long ago run dry of literary innovation. There was simply nothing left to say. As she lay dying, with only the sound and the sight of the sea, the old girl breathed a sigh. Of contentment? Of desperation? Of sorrow?

...of fear?

What a sordid story. Tomorrow, the revellers will again come to Sand Hole Shoal, and doubtlessly they will discover the corpse of Gertrude Stein, who died a miserable death, broke, alone, and unpopular, and doubtlessly they will pay it no mind. “What business of ours is it?”, they will say. And, they’d be right. It isn’t any of their business. Disgusting. I want to vomit into a shoebox and dump it into the Panama Canal. I hate you. I hate this. I hate Gilgamesh. I hate it. Goodnight. I hope you die a miserable death in your sleep and the attendant priest shits in your mouth when they bury you. clap

And fuck Jeb Bush, too! No one deserves any of my hard-won dollars, and I’m certainly not giving to charity! Piss off back to Narnia, you fucking fairy.

Thank you.


	11. West Virginia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: major character death, implied gore,

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there was something. What is this “something”, you say? Well, when analyzed through the poststructuralist lens, it could be said that this “something” lacks semiotic temporalization, here meaning that Derrida would consider this “something” to be analogous to a sort of mimeographic identity, here coalescing in the assigned signification of a funeral.

It was a devastating affair, Gilgamesh cried until he thought he couldn’t anymore, and then he cried some more. All of Enkidu’s students were split between picketing the funeral and sobbing in the back rows. Gilgamesh’s mother held him close, muttering comfort in his ear.

“At least he’s with his family, now.”

What now? What now. Now that Enkidu was extremely dead and was absolutely not coming back under any circumstances, there wasn’t too much to do. Maybe he should just sit around on his ass and twiddle his thumbs. Gilgamesh defaulted to his idle animations, and just kinda sat around and occasionally brushed dust off of his shoulder or something. 

It’s really something, isn’t it. The way one feels after processing the death, after seventeen days, two hours, 11 minutes, and 49 seconds, and the way one feels at the moment they see their beloved in the coffin, as still as a frozen lake. Gilgamesh sent one last prayer to whatever god was out there. And something in the coffin rose.

A rose, a rose! A toes, a toes! Where did they come from? nobody knows! Gilgamesh has no toes, Enkidu has no rose. How sad, how sad indeed. However did this come to be? I blame god. Somewhere, deep in space, a nutribullet clicks to the on position. An earthquake ravages the Californian coast. A shaman deep in the woods somewhere longingly rubs his ass.

His ass was sweet and plump, like the perfectly ripe peaches they used to pick when vacationing on the Gulf of Illinois. But those peach trees were dead now, and Gilgamesh’s supple buttocks was the only reminder that Enkidu had left of those awful, awful days in the blistering cold Chicago wind. It was the best of times, and the worst of times during their Illinois expeditions, but mostly the worst of times. That city stretched on for hundreds of miles. They couldn’t escape, and yet, they were always drawn back. After all, where else would they spend Christmas?

Christmas? Who gives a shit about Christmas? The only good thing about Christmas is that the fuckin’ priests get outta the bars! Speaking of bars, did you know that 

Gilgamesh sobbed openly, a rare display of emotion for a man voted “Least Fuckable” 3 years in a row by Hot Fake Men magazine, only to be beaten to a 4th year by the one and only Gary Busey. A man, dressed in a dark trench coat and fedora sidled up behind him. “Reality is crumbling, you know.”

“I just wish he would have told us he knew,” Enkidu said, watching Jeb Bush repeatedly turn the Nutribullet on and off and watch its contents in fascination.

“I don’t know,” Gilgamesh replies. “I think it made the whole thing a lot more fun.”

Gilgamesh woke up. Heart beating fast, bed sweaty, dick hard. Dick unbelievably hard. “Damn dude, you should maybe go to urgent care” kind of hard. This time, he was fairly certain it was for real. Hard to tell, with his dick that hard. He couldn’t help it, the thought of that fuzzy goth just made him so aroused. 

Did this fall under necrophilia, Gilgamesh wondered. He had fully believed that Enkidu was dead, but here he was, alive, dick out. But he didn’t have time to ponder this, as his reality was torn about around him, and suddenly he was on a large, unfamiliar boat. The rain was pounding over his head, and in the distance, he saw an iceberg.

All at once, the Titanic crashed again! Into the iceberg! Just like at the beginning of this story! Gilgamesh and Enkidu fell into the briny deep. The sea crabs sang a love song in G half-flat minor. It was cute, in the way that a vomiting infant is cute. Just cute enough to make you not want to bash it against a wall. Not necessarily. The couple treaded water glumly. The prospect of death was real.

But “real” is a subjective term, isn’t it? Like how Jeff Goldblum, the gayest straight man to ever “exist” is “real.” Jeff is always there, whether you know it or not. 

“You guys wanna get married again?” he asked Gilgamesh and Enkidu. He raised his eyebrows excitedly. “Just for funsies?”

“Yeah, sure…” they replied in unison.

“GREAT!” he cackled. The couple were suddenly wearing ill-fitting suits. “You’ve been pronounced husband and husband again, bitches!!” Jeff Goldblum hopped on his magic anteater and flew off into the sunset.

Out in deep space, a man was vaporized in the harsh, gaseous embrace of the sun. “Gaseous... sounds a bit like fascist, doesn’t it?” The mysterious stranger behind Gilgamesh whispered in his ear. “Tell me, have you ever heard of the Gigantic?”

“Gigantic? Like my penis?” 

Gilgamesh was overcome with grief at the loss of Enkidu. A rising tide of floodwater was threatening to wash away his heart, and the cruel, callow sneer he wore on his face was something like a foghorn, alerting all in his presence that something was amiss. HOLE

You wake up and your lungs are full of water. You wake up and your lungs are made of ice. You wake up and your lungs are full of soot, and spiderwebs, and mucus, and blood.

You wake up. This coffin is not real. It does not confine your body, much less your mortal soul.

You are back home. You are at the headwaters of the sister rivers and you are bathing in their flow.

You had a dream. A very strange dream. Its details escape you, now.

Me?!?! Me. Yes, me, the author. Hello. I am breaking the fourth wall. Gilgamesh woke up for I dunno, probably like at least the third time. This time, he was thirteen years old and Russian. He took a swig from the bottle of vodka that he always kept on his nightstand and got out of bed. 

“Русские слова” he said Russianly. 

The audience nodded and pretended to know what he said, because I’m taking a gamble that they probably don’t speak Russian. 

“What the fuck, why are they Russian? The only Russians you ever hear about are the goddamn Soviets. Fuckin’ commies,” Ben Shapiro said.

“Why are you here? What the fuck is happening?” Enkidu murmured. This was madness, insanity. Madness madness madness madness madness madness madness. Does anyone know what’s happening on this bitch of an earth, on this boat hurtling towards oblivion?

And oblivion it was! Down, down they fell! Down into hell! Their feet swelled! Their noses ached! Lighting struck a tree and it fell down, it fell down onto you, my love. How I miss you. Wake up please. Wake up if you love me. An army of dustmites and earwigs crawled out of the walls and surrounded the couple in the dingy hospital room. The chieftain among the insects spoke up in a comically high pitched voice. This is what he said:

“In the two thousand and twenty first year of our lord, Jengus Christler, I have created the very first electricity-free flight device.” He held up a clunky set of mechanical wings held together by a belt and strapped them to his supple ass. “It’s powered by the magic of friendship!” He wiggled his butt in preparation for takeoff. “You just have to BELIEVE!” He ripped ass so hard that he launched himself into the stratosphere. 

THE TITANIC IS SINKING

...who cares?

THE FIRES OF HELL ARE IN YOU, SOLDIER! YOU HAVE TO FIGHT FOR YOUR COUNTRY!

THE YEAR IS 1912 the date is THE FIFTEENTH OF APRIL THIS GLORIOUS SHIP OF THE WHITE STAR LINE IS SINKING STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOPSTOP STOP STOP

Gilgamesh awoke from his nap from a start. Across the cabin, Enkidu sat, pooooping a ritalin and adjusting the collar of his starched shirt. The cabin rocked. Everything rocked. This was a boat. The boat, in fact, to end all boats.

“The… Gigantic?” Who was that man?

…who cares?

And now, as I hold aloft my copy of my the King James Bible, rescued from the jaws of a diseased ferret, I think a thought of the cleft of the universe and I IIIII I I I IIII ii ii I want it, now

Where is Dick Cheney? Where is Dick Cheney? Where is Dick Cheney? Where is Dick Cheney? Where is Dick Cheney? Where is Dick Cheney? 

“Is the ship sinking?” His mind was spinning

“Weren’t we in Eurasia?” These questions these questions these questions these questions these questions what do they mean what do they mean what do they mean what do they mean what do they mean

...who cares?

Where is my phone's asshole? What? Poop? I don’t know I don’t know I don’t knowI don’t knowI don’t knowxI don’t know

“I think the ship might be sinking” Enkidu was laughing now. He threw his head back and laughed, a sound that echoed in the halls of the ship, those cramped halls stinking of seawater AND PISS, for long after he had stopped laughing. His head rotated on his shoulders one hundred and eighty degrees. In Georgia, a moth was murdered brutally. 

Someone in the Ardennes, a young girl broke down in tears. tears tears

“I want to eat your sock lint.” Thoughts came to Gilgamesh’s brain faster than he could utter them. His head was spinning spinning swirling spinning in the sea the seathe sea  
the sea

The beautiful sea.

At the very first glimmer of brightening dawn, Gilgamesh [began mourning] his friend:

'0 Enkidu, [whom] your mother, a gazelle, and your father, a wild donkey, _[did raise,]_

'whom the wild [asses] did rear with their milk,  
whom the beasts [of the wild _did teach]_ all the pastures -

o Enkidu, may the paths [of] the Forest of Cedar mourn you [without pause,] by day and by night!

'May the elders of teeming Uruk-the-Sheepfold mourn you! May the crowd who gave us their blessings [mourn you!]

May the high _[peaks]_ of hills and mountains mourn you, ......... pure.

May the pastures lament like your mother!

'May _[boxwood,]_ cypress and cedar mourn you, through whose midst we crept in our fury!

May the bear mourn you, the hyena, the panther, the _cheetah_ , the

stag and the _jackal_ ,  
the lion, the wild bull, the deer, the ibex, all the beasts of the   
wild!

'May the sacred river Ulay mourn you,  
along whose banks we walked in our vigour!

May the pure Euphrates mourn you,  
whose water we poured in libation from skins!

'May the young men of Uruk-the-Sheepfold mourn you,  
[who] witnessed our battle when we slew the Bull of Heaven! 

May the ploughman mourn you in _[his furrow]_ , [when he] extols your name with his sweet yodel! 

Enkidu sits down and starts to pray. The gods do not hear him. Or maybe they do, and they choose to ignore him. Maybe they are letting his prayers go to the answering machine and laughing as the recording plays out. He wouldn’t doubt it.

Doubt swirled in our mind (we’re a hivemind now <3) as we thought about Ancient Mesopotamia. Where even is that? We didn’t pay attention in History. Instead, we just opened a cheeky little portal to hell and demanded to speak to the big man himself (no not god that guy’s cringe lol), Steve Minecraft. Steve Minecraft is so big and cool and blocktangular, and we are just so obsessed with him. 

Are. Present tense. Steve Minecraft is all we think about. Every hour of every day, we think about Steve and his big blocky muscles. God, he’s so handsome. Every day we wake up and wish that we were waking up with Steve in the bed next to us instead of our stupid “husband”. Whatever, the wedding ring didn’t even cost that much money. We just want Steve. Sexy, sexy Steve. 

Ah yes, Steve. Manipulator of terrain. Perhaps God. For is it not God who puts forth shape to the chaos of the world? Who melds the Earth and the seas together, piece by piece?

“Why have you come to us, in Mesopotamia? Have you arrived to tell us that we’re of the chosen people? I thought I was a god, but it seems I could be wrong,” Gilgamesh said, “what is your judgement?”

“My judgement is that you have already lived through more hells than I could possibly send you to. Hellscapes that have plagued your mind, where you have committed the most grievous of sins and witnessed the most horrible of abominations, where your bodies and minds have been distorted beyond recognition. What is the dreaming mind, compared to the waking? Does the lack of awareness of reality say anything about what the waking mind may censor from you? But what does it matter? Are dreams fake or could you, say, be shifting into an alternate dimension and wreaking havoc upon it?” Steve from Minecraft said.

Gilgamesh screamed, for he did not know. His mind had been worn down by the visions he had gone through, watching his dearest die before him, drowning into that icy oblivion, the ship headed inevitably towards the iceberg, and sinking just as his lover. He realized that soon his consciousness could come to an end, that the end of everything is inevitable, and he only realized his own mortality by staring into the face of God.

Take a deep breath. Make it count. Make it boil. Make it wilt and wizen. Make it burst into flames. It will not prepare you.

Gilgamesh grabbed one of the eyeballs and tugged lightly. He was showered in pink, sour juices, worms were birthed within his insides and crawled out of his pores, writhing on the ground below. A stone door screeched open, squealing the melody to Assisa a Pie d’un Salice. Ahead was a black chasm. He walked ahead, maimed penis flailing in the furious hurricane. He was unafraid- for this he had been granted access within. The chains in the chamber moved like snakes and tied around his limbs immediately upon entry. Just providing enough tension for it to be pleasurable. Where was Enkidu? A TV on the other side of the room began to play assassination footage. After a while, the political leaders and athletes were replaced with those he knew. The strangers from the Home Depot! Meat Wallus! Dick Cheney! NOT MOTHMAN! They were destroyed in increasingly elaborate and indescribable ways. He was being tortured. Forced to be aroused by the pain, but traumatized by the deaths of everyone he ever knew. Why was this happening? A figure showed up at the end of the hall, bathed in shadow. 

I AM GILGAMESH

No! I’m Gilgamesh. That’s what it says on my socks!

NO I AM GILGAMESH YOU ARE GILGAMNOT

Noooooooo! That’s me! How dare you!

I AM YOU I AM GILGAMESH YOU ARE JUST A LITTLE CHAIN BOY IN CHAINS WATCHING EVERYONE DIE ON THE TV

Let me go so I can be me again!

NO CAN DO BUCKAROO YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO STAY HERE ONCE I AM GILGAMESH THEN I CAN GILGA-MESH MY CONSCIOUSNESS WITH THE REST OF THE WORLD

Wh-what?

THAT’S RIGHT. I’M GONNA BRING SKA BACK.

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! Gilgamesh wailed. It rained. The rain was the tears of Jesus. Ska was back, and it was here to stay. The fake Gilgamesh exited the chamber of horrors, ready to start his life in the land of the living. The real Gilgamesh was confined to the chamber forever. The door slid shut, this time squeaking the melody to Giant Steps.

*Note: from this point forwards, the fake Gilgamesh will simply be referred to as Gilgamesh, for convenience’s sake.

Ignacio gazed into the glistening night sky, the stars like jewels in the great, elaborate tapestry of the cosmos. He sighed. He had only met Gilgamesh and Enkidu, did they really have to leave so soon? He twiddled his thumbs, embarrassed that he had grown so attached. Sure, they were high on shrooms, but they told him their life stories. It didn’t feel fair to Ignacio. Poor, poor, Ignacio. 

“This is goodbye, then?” He said, his voice shaking, like a sapling in a summer storm. 

“Yes, I regret to admit that this is the end, Ignacio.” Enkidu stated, emotionless. If he showed an ounce of empathy, he knew he’d cry. 

“It was wonderful meeting you, Ignacio, you’ve been a true friend.” Gil sighed, a single tear coming to his eye, like a single precious pearl in an oyster. The husbands clasped hands, reluctantly turning away from their dear friend, Ignacio. They waved regally.   
“Goodbye, Ignacio.” They said.

“G-goodbye…” Ignacio replied. The summer storm had come, and the deluge was coming down hard. He didn’t know when he’d see another blue sky. He fell to his knees, like the hot august rain smacking the earth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Good morning, sunshines!” A familiar figure loomed over the couple’s bed.

“JEFF GOLDBLUM?!?”

“...te amo. Recuerdas, porque yo volveré.”


End file.
